Wings of Maybe
by Juh Lupin
Summary: There is always the possibility of uncertainty.


_So, this is the beginning of it. Again. It's not that big, but I hope to compensate that over the next chapter. I wasn't sure if I should name this, and I wouldn't, but then this title came into mind and I slipped it under the 'Prologue' thing._

_Well, have fun?_

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_Lukewarm supper_

Not all public figures were reared for life under the spotlight, and even fewer managed to relate well with the media and its elusive way of reporting events. Those who worked their way to achieve such positions could not imagine the broad range of canards that were possible to be developed, which meant little hope for those who happened to be thrown against their will into the gossiping world. After the war, with a large number of new, heroic stories, the latter became a common personality on newspapers, among printed words that described excitingly their deeds.

For once, Harry knew beforehand that, when Voldemort was defeated, reporters would follow wherever he stepped his feet, as much as they would do with everyone he related to. The first years that succeeded the Battle of Hogwarts were fueled with demonstrations of such, conspicuously due the fact there were many supporters of Voldemort's cause that still terrorized the wizard society. It was an attempt of leaving a lingering remembrance of their existence, and their arrests consequently brought interest over whoever had locked them up or stood against them.

As years went, however, such things soothed. What did not was the merciless eagerness for any stories of said personages, and the press kept assaulting them all the same. The difference was the content of these articles and reportages, mainly of their lives instead of their previous brave actions. They were so focused on getting any information they could, Harry surprised himself one day reading a newspaper article that told exactly what his children bedrooms looked from the inside. That had reached a point. On the same night he had a long and exhausting conversation with Ginny, and they decided the safest was to bury themselves even further in Britain's countryside.

James had disapproved this relocation. They had lived very closely to his grandparents and cousins, and his first son got extremely attached to the daily visits he did to the Burrow. There was a whole week, the first one in the new house, when he barely looked at him and Ginny. Mostly, he played with Albus and ignored his parents the best he could, which was an impressive task for a four year-old. Only after they were finally settled and the whole family came to visit was that his anger dissipated. Though Harry believed that had much to do with the fact that Molly had promised to pick them up every day to keep her company.

Harry had enjoyed she did so. He worked every week day, including a few weekends when necessity claimed him to, and despite the fact Ginny had a more flexible schedule she still spent a great amount of time away from their house.

Harry noticed that James soon adapted to their absence.

Albus was the one that suffered.

Since his birth, Albus seemed to be more dependent than his elder brother. He was always behind either him or Ginny, talking or pleading for someone to hold him. The time spent with his cousins did not fill his needs for parental presence, and he constantly asked Molly or Arthur when he could go home. Growing up, he was silent, but still took long conversations with Harry whenever something concerned him.

When Lily was born, Albus seemed to distance himself from them. It took him a while to get used to have another child as the focus of Ginny's and Harry's attention, only approaching his younger sister when James insisted he did so. He kept the distance from Harry and Ginny, slowly diluting his anger and chafe before returning to their previous terms.

He and Ginny tried to educate their children anguishing with the sorts of effects that would eventually descend upon them, having parents as famous as they were. In fact, having a _family_ as famous as theirs. It was a great feat, and one Harry was not sure he could relish with the consequences they reached. None of the three Potter children exactly enjoyed the harassment they got from the media, and – not that surprisingly – attempted to divert it. Harry's concern laid on whether or not it was wise to submit them to such experiences.

He reasoned they could, him and Ginny, have moved further away. Being wizards, distance was less of a problem. But distance had a more peculiar, psychological trait, rather than a pragmatical geographical one. Perhaps, more than the children it was him and Ginny who did not want to leave the soil they had cemented as 'home'. Dwelling on the matter was not important, now. Although the gigantic issue brought by means of communication was still at question that night.

The night was warm enough that Molly decreed dinner would be held on the gardens. Therefore, four wooden tables were arranged so to receive every Weasley, Potter and who else had been invited. The arrangements being made, as long as the food being cooked, made them gather raucously around it. It was the last dinner they would be having before their sons and daughters went to Hogwarts again and, as it had become a tradition, they had spent the last week of their vacations – of their children vacation, at least – in the Burrow.

Over the previous years they had to restructure the old house, make it comfortable and capable of containing all of them. It now had a new floor atop of the older ones, and a building with four more bedrooms had been constructed on its left side. Harry did not know the types of spells they had to manage so the new floor would not collapse, but Hermione assured it was safe. And there was no debate over that declaration.

That night's supper was one of celebration. Celebrating the younger ones with their grades and the badges some of them gained and, at least for those old enough to remember war, for being alive to see it. The younger siblings could not give a moment of silence, but their parents talked and laughed just as much. Or they were doing so, until Ted Lupin made his announcement. The scene Harry had before his eyes now was precisely different.

"Victoire!" urged Dominique. She stared at her sister flickering between amusement and acrimony, though being ignored by the willowy, silvery blonde.

But her cry took them from the stupor they were set in. Harry exchanged an uncomfortable gaze with Ginny, while Molly, the senior, proceeded to sit and stand repeatedly. Bill was paler, perhaps slowly reaching tones of purple, and Fleur held a grip around her fork and knife. George apparently thought it was not a matter to be worried and kept a bright smile, but Angelina bit her lower lip in uncertainty, as many of the others were doing. With reddened ears, Ron furrowed his brow before asking: "Are you pregnant?"

"No!" Victoire protest was muffled by the new uproar that followed her uncle's remark. She was sitting beside Ted in the middle of the table.

"Are you telling the truth? It would not be great, but we wouldn't be exactly mad… I mean, I wouldn't, I don't know about Bill and your mother..."

"Stop it, Ron!" said Hermione. Breathing deeply, and placing her fork on top of the table, she moved her eyes to the couple. She thought how utterly changeless was Ron's mind through the years, how it remained thick and insensitive, obnoxious in every nerve towards the most delicate scenarios. She also thought of saying something, anything that eased the atmosphere brought by her husband, but resolved it was better if Bill and Fleur had the opportunity to do so.

"I am not pregnant, Uncle Ron! I don't have to be to get married," she declared, studying the table carefully. "It's just… This is what I want for now and for future times. It's Teddy. It has always been Teddy, and I acknowledge you all have known this longer than me, or him."

"Have you both thought it through? Marriage is meant to be serious, and I hardly believe making this sort of decision in rushed manners is the correct option," Bill said, finally. His fingers tapped the back of the hands of his wife, before entangling them.

Teddy smiled. "We've been considering this idea for a year now, Mr. Weasley."

Bill returned the smiled, despite feeling anguish make his throat dormant.

"A year? You've been zinking of zis a year and ave not said a word, Victoire?" Fleur almost hissed. Harry was not surprised to notice she seemed angrier over the fact her daughter had not confided the subject to her, rather than the fact she was barely twenty one years old and wished to marry.

"Mum, don't be like that. We just wanted to be sure of this."

Harry almost laughed as Fleur blushed perceptively, but remembered he should be worrying of this just the same. Fleur seemed to be thinking as much of him, for her eyes locked his accusing and demanding. "Wat do you zink of zis, 'Arry?"

Harry darted his gaze from the _veela_-like woman and returned to his protégé, though he spoke to everyone at the table. "I know some of us, if not all of us, got married rather young. War seemed to urge us to do so," Harry moved in his chair. "When I married Ginny, however, war was over and we did it all the same. We were a few years older, but not that much, and we're together since."

Ginny cleaned her throat, calling the attention towards her. "I think what Harry is trying to say is: they are both working and having promising careers. They're well-educated, and were raised in a relatively healthier environment than the one that surrounded us then. Even if they weren't, it wouldn't matter that much. There's nothing here we can take here as a choice from two kids, who are running over things and rushing phases of life."

"I think…," Bill started in a bashful tone. His strawberry cascade of hair was pulled away from his face, a few white threads mingling in the strand of hair that fell delicately over his right brow. Bill smiled widely. "I… I hope you're happy, Vic. I can't… Congratulations."

Victoire had a tear rolling over her cheek, one she brushed with a hint of violence. She was not as calm as she led them to think. Her mandible shook slightly when she tried to capture her mother's gaze.

"Mum, are you alright?"

Fleur glanced at Bill, who stared at her as expectantly as their eldest daughter. Harry wondered if the woman could be against the wedding, noticing how that would set a situation similar to the one Fleur herself confronted before marrying Bill. From his memories, Harry knew Molly did not appreciate the idea at the beginning, and it took Fleur years and a daughter to ease the elder woman. That she could now perform the same atitude was hypocritical, at least.

With an agile and aerial movement, Fleur rose up and walked to Victoire, determined. Harry took as long as the two women embrace to realize Fleur was crying, an action Victoire soon followed to reproduce. They spoke in quick French, and with the experience Harry had in the language he could not hope to understand what they said, even if they had spoken louder than whispers. Fleur disentangled herself from the arms of her daughter and hugged Teddy, giving Bill a change to do the same with Victoire. And, forming a rather long line, the rest of the family followed, unquestionably revelling over the news.

Harry stared Teddy for a long moment. His hair was auric with strands of bronze, in a delicate mélange to harmonize with his chartreuse green eyes. He could easily be swaying from every possible colour as a rainbow, and his image would not have the same impact as it did now. Euphoria best described Teddy, as Harry pulled him for a hug.

"How did your grandmother took the news?" asked Harry, murmuring the words so no one else would hear.

"Just fine, actually. But she wouldn't be a problem. I mean, she ran away to get married," Teddy shrugged, as if it resolved the matter. He averted his eyes quickly to Victoire, who was laughing from something James and Fred had done. "Her mother, though… I was absolutely frightened with the idea of facing that woman. She does have _veela_ blood."

Harry laughed. "I can understand your concern. Have you both decided when you're getting married?"

"No, but possibly we'll do it over the holidays. They'll be back from Hogwarts, for a while, so everyone will be able to come," he made a gesture towards the youngest ones. Harry grinned with the fact, dwelling for a few seconds with the fact their children were not that young anymore before agreeing with Teddy. "And I think Victoire would like it to be at the Shell Cottage, but I don't know how Molly will take that."

"I think she'll agree to it," said Harry. His mind wandered through another troublesome matter, however. "It would also be more discreet."

Ted sensed the apprehensive timbre when Harry spoke, even if it had been subtle. "What do you mean?"

"Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet," Harry begun, but Ted signalized he understood. "They'll be craving for any information they may get. And they'll want pictures of the wedding."

"I know. You can't do anything about these, can you?" the golden threads were darkening slowly, as Ted spoke.

"I don't know," Harry answered, though he knew. There was little, if truly nothing, he could do to stop the gossips and harassments to come. He was the most respected auror in the Ministry, but the best he could arrange was a strong security scheme. That would not prevent the journalists and photographers, as it never did. "Perhaps… Well, let's think of that when time comes. I think I better let Ginny congratulate you, or I'll be suffering dreadful consequences."


End file.
